A Good, Healthy Dose of Brain Bleach
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: Sherlock walks in on Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock is mentally scarred. John is there to help. Johnlock, hints of Mystrade, T for romance-y stuff.


_**Hey, ya'll! RainyDays-and-DayDreams here, again. I wasn't planning on writing this, it just... Happened. I was trying to write a sweet h/c for my dear Sherlock ADD Buddy, who has had some st**_**_uff_**_** going on recently, to cheer her up, and this came out. I suppose with the horrifying things I've seen on the internet this week, this was inevitable. But more on that on the bottom! In the meantime- enjoy!**_

_**Disclaimer: Such fanfiction. No own. Very sad. No sue. Wow.**_

* * *

Sherlock was traumatized.

Actually, fully traumatized. Or at least, that's what he told himself. (Perhaps mentally scarred was more correct.)

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't delete the images that had haunted his mind ever since he had accidentally stumbled into that room.

And haunted was an accurate term. He'd never be able to see his brother or Lestrade in the same way again. When Sherlock had suggested Mycroft find a goldfish, he had meant something- well, anything other than what he had walked in on the two of them doing.

Groaning, he rolled face first into the couch and wondered if he could actually merge with the piece of furniture. At least this memory wouldn't bother him there.

* * *

John Watson was used to his boyfriend having the occasional tantrum.

And hissy fit.

And three-day sulk event.

It was part of dating Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't fond of it, sure, but he was used to it.

He was also used to coming home and finding his boyfriend face down on the couch, muttering things that only he could hear.

He wasn't expecting to return from Tesco's (because Sherlock had used the milk in a mould experiment again) and find his love face-down on the couch, shaking and muttering frantically to himself.

Sherlock didn't shake unless something was really wrong.

"Sherlock?" No answer.

Quickly, John set the milk in the fridge before rushing to Sherlock and sitting down next to him.

"Sherlock," he said, slowly, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock mumbled something into the couch, shuddering again.

"What was that?"

"Brain bleach," Sherlock said, shooting up. "I've heard you mention it before. Where is it?"

It took John a second to compute what Sherlock had just said. Then-

"Brain bleach?"

"Yes, brain bleach!" Sherlock leapt to his feet, pacing frantically. "As in, 'I needed brain bleach'!"

"Sherlock," John said slowly, "You realize that brain bleach isn't real, right?"

Sherlock groaned and placed his face in his hands. "Then how, John? How do I delete this?"

"Can you explain what happened to me first?" John asked, concerned and confused.

Sherlock walked back over to the couch and slumped into it. "Lestrade and Mycroft," he groaned, closing his eyes.

John, evidently, hadn't known. "Really? They're- oh, that's- well, that's news."

He looked at Sherlock again, and Sherlock waited for the pieces to fall together in John's mind, as they always did.

"Then why are you ups- oh. Oh. You didn't- you didn't walk in on them, did you?" John sounded half-amused, half-horrfied.

Sherlock nodded dejectedly.

"Can't you just delete it?"

Sherlock shook his head. He'd already tried. Plenty of times.

John walked over slowly and sat down next to Sherlock, sneaking an arm around his shoulders. "Sherlock," he said carefully, and then paused. To be truthful, he was rubbish with these things.

He coughed. "One time, I walked in on my sister and Clara-"

Sherlock jumped up and began pacing with a vengeance. "They must have planned this!"

John quirked an eyebrow. "Sherlock, I don't think-"

"No, John, they must have! Why else would they be-" he paused for a second, clearly uncomfortable, "doing that as I walked in?"

John sighed. "Maybe because you just burst in, like you always do. Most people appreciate a warning, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't listen, continuing to pace.

John amused himself for a few minutes by watching the agitated detective pace, but he soon stood up to stop the man.

"Sherlock," he said, placing a hand on the other man's chest. Sherlock stopped, breathing heavily, eyes wide open and aflame.

"John," he breathed.

"Shh," John said, leaning up to place a soft kiss on the detective's mouth.

Sherlock sighed and relaxed a little bit, leaning into John.

John took a look at the clock. Quarter to nine. Good a time as any, he supposed. "Come on, 'Lock," he said softly. "Let's go take a shower, and then we can go to bed, okay?"

"Okay," Sherlock said, closing his eyes.

John slowly led Sherlock to the bathroom.

* * *

"Do you think he'll delete it?"

Mycroft looked at Greg, who was working himself into a state of panic over what his pesky younger brother had witnessed them doing.

"Yes, he should," he said, knowing full well Sherlock wouldn't be able to. Who was he to work the DI into an even larger state of panic?

Greg stopped pacing, taking a deep breath as he relaxed his arms. "Good," he said, leaning back against the wall.

And then he began to laugh.

Mycroft looked at Greg expectantly, expecting an explanation for his rapid change in behaviour.

Greg saw the look on Mycroft's face and laughed harder. "Nothing," he gasped. "Just- I walked in on your brother and John last month, and this is almost karma."

Mycroft skewed his mouth into an expression of distaste, and then allowed himself to smile. "It does appear to be, if one believes in karma," he said, leaning back into his chair.

* * *

As Sherlock laid next to John in bed that night, he tried, once more, futilely, to delete what he had seen earlier.

When he was unsuccessful once more, he sighed and put his head on top of John's chest, feeling the gentle thrum of his heartbeat, and the gentle rise, up and down, of John's chest as he breathed. He closed his eyes and breathed on the scent that was purely John, and slowly let his mind, and therefore his memories, float away.

The next morning, when he awoke, he found he could still remember the events, but was more at peace with them now.

That didn't make his next meeting with Lestrade and his brother any less awkward.

* * *

_**A/N: So, this is a single draft which I typed on my phone. Any mistakes are mine. Also, I'm American, so if I fucked anything up too badly I apologize.**_

_**So, in the span of a week, I have accidentally stumbled upon more horrifying parts of our fandom than I even knew existed. And of course, I read it all. Because the first thing I do, when I see something that should probably set off warning bells in my head, is I wonder what that's actually like. And then I read it. And Anonymoustache will understand my encounter with the forum today. Ugh.*shudder* *shudder* Needless to say, I will be very scarred for a long, long time due to that. **_

_**Also, if anyone caught the DHMIS2 reference in there, you are awesome.**_

_**And yes, I know, I'm a horrible person. I swear, the next story I post on here will be a prompt fill. I've got so many that you beautiful people left me and I've been kind of ignoring them for my own projects... Which needs to change. So, next story on here: prompt fill. Promise.**_

_**Goodnight, or good morning, **_

_**Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams**_


End file.
